remember the way you made me feel
by yourealoverimarunner
Summary: "it's his grip that she remembers the most." a one-shot about Dandy. this is my first fanfiction so we'll see how this goes. leave some reviews, please?


It's his grip that she remembers the most.

Out of all the things that he does for her and does _to_ her (the list is quite long but that's a whole different story), the grip he has on her now in this moment is what she thinks about most often. Past memories of these moments sneak up on her at the oddest times- while she's doing paperwork in her office or getting coffee in the lounge, riding the elevator up to her apartment- yet... it's never an unpleasant feeling. In fact, as soon as they cross her mind, she can immediately feel her cheeks start to burn a little, and a grin threatens to break across her face. She allows herself a moment to indulge in thoughts of his fingers, long and calloused, splayed across her skin, leaving more than just physical marks on her.

This isn't to say he's not gentle, because he is (_he most definitely is_), it's just that she's learned that he's this perfect mix of delicate strength that she hadn't really paid attention to before until the moment he first touched her.

It's so funny that she missed that in all the years she knew him before the lines in their friendship became delightfully blurred. In all actuality, there are a few different layers to Danny Castellano, they just take a while to get to. It's understandable though, after watching him with his bitch of an ex-wife (totally called for) and hearing stories of his marriage and his childhood. She gets it.

Well, _now_ she gets it. She didn't then. If she had, she would have spent way less time taking jabs at him and sharing (sometimes friendly) banter with him and purposely annoying him about all of his little characteristics like his nervous sweating and his weird toes and his slightly creepy obsession with Springsteen.

If she would have known then she would start craving his touch as much as she does now, she would have changed course. (Actually, she probably would have laughed first, thoroughly guffawing at the thought of her and him even tolerating each other in a room for longer than 15 seconds. Then after that laugh, she would have probably cleared away a whole bottle of wine, laughed some more and then changed course.)

It's just she didn't know how deep those layers went, and how much each level would affect her. Once you get past the first surly, super professional, grandfathers-are-the-backbone-of-this-country layer, it gets so much better. He's actually... very sweet. And romantic. And thoughtful. And funny (in an old man kind of way). And a really good kisser. Like, **really good**. Like, hold up-pause- make-your-toes-curl-and-your-mind-go-blank good. Who would have thunk?

He also has this way of touching you in this feather-light kind of way that both sends chills down your spine but also makes you feel like you're on fire.

It's his grip that she remembers the most.

The first time she experienced it, she could literally feel all the breath in her body escape her. It's his strong, confident hold on her waist the first time he ever pulled her close to him in a soft first kiss. It's a lingering squeeze as he pulls back to gauge her reaction to said kiss (she's sure he could see her face go through the emotions- surprise to a little bit of fear back to surprise into bliss), and then a deep cinch to pull her even closer the second time. It's his arms around her as he deepens the kiss and she can't even think, only feel, and it feels_ literally amazing_, and it's her limbs around his neck and her fingers in his hair and them melting into each other like dark honey into milk.

She recalls the memory of them stumbling through her door and into her apartment, clumsily removing clothes and shoes on a path to her bedroom. There's the feeling of his body hesitating to pull away as he tries to unbutton her blouse, almost as if he thinks if he lets go, she'll evaporate into a fine mist, but they're pressed so close together that the only way to get to where they want to go is for him to back off and up a bit. She remembers hearing him growl a little at the absence of her lips on his and she remembers letting out an amused chuckle as she removed his leather jacket from his muscular shoulders and went to work on his button up. It's after his shirt is gone that she realizes she would like to renege on her previous statement of him having a weird body. That simply is not true. His body is actually pretty fantastic- taut in all the right places, and with just the right amount of hair on his chest to be manly and not gross and hold the phone how long has he had a six pack under there-

She's cut off by his lips again, and this time it's a much more intense passion, and before she knows it he's exploring her mouth with his tongue and she's not complaining, quite the opposite actually, _she catches herself moaning_ and that damn grip of his is back.

She learns over the next few hours (_**right?!**_) that her waist is his favorite place to rest his hands. Whether it's during- when she's wrapped around him and he's stroking gently in and out of her in slow, deliberate, earth-shattering movements- or after- when they're both worn out and spooned so close together she honestly can't remember where he begins and she ends- his fingers always find a way back to the narrowest part of her body.

Even now, as she lies in bed staring at the ceiling at 3:16am, feeling the weight of his arm wrapped tightly across her midsection and the soft snores slipping from his slightly parted lips, it's that hold of his that sticks out the most in her mind. She lets out a light chuckle at it all. If Mindy Lahiri had known that his hold would transcend exterior boundaries and capture something else, something within her, she would have thought twice. Thank Taylor Swift that she didn't, because she probably would have missed out on something that she had been searching for for such a long time.


End file.
